


Aces

by strangeallure



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cortexiphan, M/M, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, poker players
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeallure/pseuds/strangeallure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, poker talent Jensen Ackles is just another job for Jared: different player, same game. But when the heat between him and Ackles rises and the stakes turn out to be much higher than Jared thought, he winds up with more than he ever bargained for.</p>
<p><b>Warning:</b> gambling</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aces

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a pinch-hit for spn_reversebang. Thank you to the mods for organizing, to dugindeep for the quick beta, and to the talented xsilverdreamsx, who made the art and also shared her considerable knowledge of poker with me. Her art post can be found [here](http://xsilverdreamsx.livejournal.com/21187.html).
> 
> First posted on LJ in December 2011.

“What are you doing?” a voice close to Jared asks. He just turned off the faucet – golden and a little gaudy like everything else in this casino – and the voice startles him, even though it has a casual, chatty tone to it. Jared could have sworn he was alone in the restroom. 

A quick turn on his heel and Jared looks directly at the guy, tall and lean in black dress pants and a perfectly ironed white shirt with the collar undone. Jared looks into the man’s eyes, dark green with gold flecks visible in the harsh fluorescent light, trying not to let on that he knows exactly who the other man is.

“Just washing my hands,” Jared replies with a cocky grin. He holds the man’s gaze and takes a deliberate step forward, making them stand even closer, face-to-face. Jared takes a moment to bite his bottom lip, then leans his body forward and slides his arm behind the other man’s back – and activates the motion sensor on the paper towel dispenser.

The man’s eyes flash as Jared steps around him and tears off a piece of towel to dry his hands. Jared feels cool, confident, a little like James Bond in _Casino Royale_.

“Maybe I haven’t made myself clear,” the other guy says, voice still casual, but with a distinct edge this time. Suddenly, Jared finds his face pressed against the cold tiles next to the towel dispenser, his arm twisted behind his back, the man’s body heavy against his, securing him in place.

“What. Are. You. Doing?” The voice is low, breathing dampness against the shell of Jared’s ear. 

Jared tries to break free, but the guy is surprisingly strong, and Jared’s position affords him no leverage, no way out. 

“Let me go,” Jared says, trying to keep his voice calm. He feels a lot less like James Bond now.

“Tell me what I want to know and I will.” The voice is dark and it sends a tingle down Jared’s spine that’s not all fear. He stays silent. This is too big, Jared thinks, this is way too big for him. He should never have taken on this job in the first place.

“Tell me who you work for.” It’s not a question, it’s a command, and the tingle Jared feels only grows stronger. He has never been confronted by any of his marks before. Hell, they usually don’t even realize Jared’s there. This is not what he signed up for.

“Roché,” Jared says. “I work for Sebastian Roché.”

“Sebastian Roché?” The grip on his arm loosens a little. “That paranoid real estate guy from LA?”

“Yeah,” Jared nods, although the guy is involved in much more than just real estate scams, “exactly.” Jared thinks he hears a chuckle, but he can’t be sure.

Suddenly, the weight against his back is gone. It takes Jared a moment to get his breathing under control again and straighten out his suit before he turns around. By that time, Jensen Ackles is long gone.

Only a week later, Jared finds Ackles at a poker table in Florida. It’s a more low-key establishment this time, out of the way and classy with wooden furnishings and what looks to be genuine Persian rugs. It also has a buy-in of ten thousand dollars just to secure players a place at the table.

Despite the air conditioning, there’s more sweat than Jared would like forming on his palms and in the hollow of his neck as he’s trying to blend into the background, to keep Ackles from noticing him. 

Truth be told, at this point, Jared could simply walk up to Ackles and make his – well, Roché’s – proposition, but he always enjoys seeing a good game, especially when the stakes are high. And Ackles is an excellent player. Watching him reminds Jared of when he still played himself, like an echo of the excitement and adrenaline that used to race through Jared's system whenever he was up against a worthy opponent.

Ackles is playing at a small table; two women, one other man, and an androgynous dealer in a black suit and bowtie. At first they play amicably, Ackles leaning back in his chair with an easy, relaxed smile, buying tapas and drinks for the other players and throwing a few chips the dealer’s way every time he wins. 

He doesn’t always win, though. The players are all good, all confident. Especially the redhead in a black-and-white cocktail dress sitting across from Ackles, who seems to thoroughly enjoy showing her cards after she bluffs him out of more than one big pot. It’s a delight to watch her and Ackles taunt and charm each other in turn, exchange knowing looks as they issue small, good-natured challenges. It's soon clear that the two of them are the best players at the table, but Jared has a feeling that they’re still holding back, keeping the others in the game because they like playing for the sake of it.

As the stakes grow higher, the atmosphere changes slowly, almost unnoticeably. The players no longer lounge in their chairs, but sit close to the table, their postures signaling full vigilance. Bets are deliberated upon, long, assessing glances thrown around the table, and the conversation slows down to a trickle. Jared feels his spine straighten, too, the growing tension of the game seeping into him.

Ackles’ stacks of chips grow.

When the other woman, a tall blonde with wild curls and a big, red mouth, busts out after a risky bet, and the guy who’s not Ackles has merely one minimum bet left, they’re all offered a rebuy. The guy takes another ten thousand, but the woman is smart enough to let it go. As she gets up from her chair, she slowly strokes her hand over Ackles’ jaw and says, “Nice playing with you.” Seeing her touch him, her palm running over the barely-there stubble on his face, sends a strange jolt through Jared.

Then she gives the redhead a long, lazy look and adds, “All of you.”

After that, the tension mounts, becomes palpable, and Jared leans forward to see better, to take it all in, to fully concentrate on what’s going on. He’s excited, his pulse up just from watching a beautiful game and suddenly, he fiercely misses playing, wants to be a part of this: the rush, the risk, the complete and utter focus when you’re placing bets that really matter, when you could lose everything. When you could win everything. 

His mouth is dry with how much he wants to be at that table right now, and he drinks down the rest of his mojito in one go.

Ackles is on the up and up, but the woman is not far behind. Somewhere along the line, the other guy wins two small pots, but Jared has a feeling Ackles and the woman are just stringing him along. When the guy busts out a second time, he finally gets wise and refuses another rebuy.

It’s just the redhead and Ackles now, and they’re both so good, it’s thrilling to watch. They still make the occasional quip, but now that it’s just the two of them, they don’t try to hide behind an easy-going facade anymore. They’re both predators, and they know it.

To the people around, they might seem calm, but Jared knows the tell-tale signs. He sees the shining eyes and dilated pupils, the barely there flush on both their cheeks, and how they lean forward, trying to bridge the distance the table puts between them.

On the outside, poker seems to be this highly controlled game. All rules, no touching. Luck and mind games. But for Jared, it’s always been something of a hands-off contact sport. There’s a veneer of civility, but underneath that, your blood boils the higher the stakes are and the better your opponents. A rollercoaster, only that not letting on how much it thrills you is also part of the game. It’s a high, an addiction – and those two are users.

After another hour of electrifying game play, in which none of them is ever able to keep the upper hand, the redhead looks at her cards, looks at her chips, and says slowly, confidently, “All in.”

A strangely satisfied smile crinkles one corner of Ackles’ mouth. “You think I’ll fold,” he says, and it makes Jared hold his breath, “but I won’t.”

Ackles fixes the woman with his gaze. “All in.” Jared simply knows that the few people who are watching – this is not the kind of establishment to draw a lot of gawkers – all feel the same energy he does, and it almost makes the air crackle.

The woman’s hand moves deliberately, slow and steady, and she puts her cards on the table as Ackles does the same. When her full house beats his ace-high flush, her smile turns from poised to radiant. 

She generously tips the dealer and winks at Ackles. “Better luck next time.”

He hints at a bow and gives her an amused smile. “Always a pleasure losing to you, Danneel.”

Jared half-expects them to get drinks together, share a table, maybe a hotel room later, but it doesn’t happen, and when Ackles goes to the bar alone, Jared figures it’s his chance to finally do what he came here to do.

“Hello, Mr. Ackles,” he says a little too formally, but hopefully also a little suave as he slides onto the stool next to Ackles. It’s ridiculous, but it’s like he still feels the aftereffects of the game, a kind of … weird hero worship for a man who can play like that.

“Finally,” Ackles says with a low smile, swirling whisky around in his tumbler, “I almost thought I’d have to follow you to the restroom again.”

Jared presses his lips together, feeling heat rise up his neck and into his cheeks. They’re not at the table, but clearly, Ackles is still playing, keeping Jared off balance, off his game.

He honestly can’t think of a good comeback, so he simply says, “I have a proposition for you.”

Ackles gives him a long sideways look and raises an eyebrow. “So it’s going to be the restroom after all,” he replies, his voice rich with innuendo.

Jared splutters at that, and Ackles laughs, surprisingly bright, but with that dark undertone still there. 

“A business proposition, Mr. Ackles,” Jared says. 

Ackles’ smile doesn’t falter. “You’re no fun,” he says, almost playfully. “And how about you call me Jensen?”

Jared pauses for a moment, then extends his hand. “Okay, Jensen.” Ackles shakes it, his grip warm and firm. “I’m Jared.” 

“I know,” Ackles says, surprising Jared yet again as he rests his other palm on the bartop without letting go of Jared's hand.

For a moment, Jared is at sea, thrown off-kilter again by Ackles’ behavior. But then he reminds himself that this could be his last job for Roché. If Jared finishes this successfully, his debt to Roché will be paid off in full.

So Jared says, “What are you doing?” as he looks pointedly at their joined hands.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ackles asks as he squeezes Jared’s hand and begins rubbing circles into Jared’s skin with his thumb. His voice is warm with more than a hint of swagger, and Jared wants to pull his hand away, apart from how he really doesn’t.

“I saw you watching,” Ackles states, all matter-of-fact. “In Atlantic City last week and tonight, too.” 

Somehow, Jared can’t say anything. 

“You know what it’s like.” Every time Jared breathes, Ackles’ scent – a mixture of cologne and sweat – fills his senses, almost makes him forget why he came here in the first place. “You know what a turn-on a good game can be.”

Ackles’ hand that’s not holding Jared's sneaks onto Jared’s thigh and slowly travels up to pull Jared closer. Jared would be embarrassed by how willingly he leans forward, until they’re sharing breath, but he can’t really think, can only listen to the warm, dark rhythm of Ackles’ voice. “Even when you lose.” Ackles gives him a predatory smile and moves in against Jared's ear. “Especially when you lose,” he murmurs.

Jared knows what he should do, knows what he shouldn’t do, but the only thing he can think about is what he wants. Ackles is cocky, smug, and possibly a little dangerous. He’s also blazingly hot and _right here_ , his hands on Jared’s body, his mouth on Jared’s skin.

Jared was never able to resist when someone went all in. 

He takes the side of Ackles’ face into his palm and pulls him into a kiss that feels nothing like the tentative, exploring first kisses of his past. It’s hungry and primal, all tongue and teeth, sucking on lips and licking deep into each other’s mouths. 

How they even make it up to Ackles’ room is a complete mystery to Jared, but once they do, all bets are off.

Afterwards, Jared finds himself snuggled into the crook of Ackles’ arm in a disturbingly intimate way, but he’s too fucked out, his bones too tired to move away.

Ackles’ voice is low and raspy, thick with exhaustion, when he says, “I wanna talk about that business proposition of yours.” He yawns. “But I need to sleep first. Don’t go anywhere.” His grip around Jared’s shoulder tightens for a moment and then he’s out for the count. Jared falls asleep soon after.

The next morning is almost surreal.

They get up together, have sex in the shower, get dressed, and Ackles – Jensen, Jared reminds himself; after blowing a guy twice, there’s really no point in not being on a first-name basis – orders room service for breakfast. Over coffee, excellent omelets and crispy bacon, they talk about football and the latest George Clooney movie. 

Jensen pours both of them another cup of coffee. “So,” he says casually. “What about your business proposition?”

Jared knew they had to talk about it, of course he did, but it still comes as a surprise. “Well,” he fumbles, “it’s not really my proposition. It’s Roché’s.”

“Okay,” Jensen’s smile is friendly, but less open than only a moment ago. “What about _Roché’s_ business proposition then?”

“He,” Jared swallows. He doesn’t really want to talk about it yet, doesn’t want to completely burst this bubble of normalcy they’ve been moving in all morning, but he figures it’s already too late for that. “He knows about the trials, about the Neuroenhancers and your abilities. And he wants you to work for him.” He gives Jensen a nervous smile. “He’s much more than a paranoid real estate guy these days – a finger in every pot and all that.”

Jensen folds his hands together tightly, his face mostly blank. “And you work for him in what capacity exactly?”

Jared thinks about lying – telling the truth will probably hurt his standing as a negotiator, but he doesn’t want to; bluffing has always been his weak spot.

“I don’t work for him,” he says, “I owe him. Until this is over, I owe him.”

Jensen raises one eyebrow, and Jared goes on. “I used to play poker, too.” He says, which earns him a _No shit, Sherlock_ smile from Jensen. “But I’m a compulsive card counter, and it turns out people don’t really like that.” He shrugs apologetically. “I pissed off the wrong guy, and Roché bailed me out. He’s a paranoiac, sure, but somehow he trusts me more than he does most others, so when something’s off in one of the casinos he has a stake in, he calls me up and I check out players, associates, employees.”

Jensen nods slowly. “Okay,” he says finally. “And what exactly did he tell you about me and the trials?”

“Just that you and a bunch of other kids were part of a trial in the 80s. That they gave you drugs to boost sense perceptions and cognitive functions.” It sounds so weird coming out of his own mouth, Jared thinks, like something out of a TV show. “And that the trial was shut down by the government when they found out.”

Jensen’s mouth quirks in a weird half-smile. “Sounds about right.”

“He just wanted me to make sure you were the real deal,” Jared adds, somehow eager to make clear how insignificant his role is in all this, “that you weren’t just an especially clever card counter.”

“And?” Jensen asks.

“You know you’re not,” Jared says, a bit of the hero worship coming back when he thinks about Jensen playing yesterday. “You’re an amazing player. Focused, intuitive, bold.” Jared’s praise draws a smile from Jensen. “I still can’t believe that woman could-” Jared’s brain skips over something, stutters, and then, “Hold on a second. You knew her. And she knew you. And she was good – better than anyone I saw before you. Was she in the trial, too?”

Jensen’s face shuts off completely for a moment and then the casual smile from earlier, the forced one, is back. “No,” he says. “Just lucky, I guess.”

Before Jared has the chance to say anything more, Jensen claps is hands together. “So,” he says, obviously eager to steer the topic away from the woman, “what does Roché want me to do for him? Or does he just like to lose at poker?”

Jared feels his mouth twitch at that. “He wants you to help him _negotiate_. Scope out his business partners, tell him when they’re bluffing, tell him who to trust, things like that.”

“And he told you all that?” Jensen asks and continues in a voice that manages to be earnest and mocking at the same time. “Because he’s a paranoiac, but he trusts you.”

Jared nods, but the question unsettles him.

“So if I come to work for him, you have enough information to rat him out to his business partners. Or you could sell your knowledge of the trial kids to someone else. Or you could make a deal with me behind his back.” Jensen’s eyebrows rise meaningfully.

“Oh,” Jared says. He’s been so focused on the chance to finally pay off his debt to Roché, to cut his ties to everything still connecting him to the mob, that he didn’t see what was right in front of him. “Oh shit.”

“You got that right,” Jensen says.

“But,” Jared feels his heart beat in his throat, making it ache, “but that means I can’t go back. I can’t go home.” He can feel his eyes go impossibly wide as he looks at Jensen. “Right?”

“Probably,” Jensen says in an annoyingly calm voice.

Jared buries his face in his hands. “Oh god.”

“Do you know Spanish?” Jensen asks nonchalantly and completely out of the blue. Jared wants to laugh. He's in the process of realizing that his life as he knows it is probably over, and Jensen asks him random questions.

“Enough to play poker and order a beer,” he finally replies because he doesn't know what else to say.

“Excellent.” Jensen grins in that cocky way he has, but there’s something else underneath it, too. “I always wanted to go to South America. I hear there’s some great poker to be played.”

Jared just looks at him, not quite sure what he’s getting at. He thinks he might have entered a state of shock because he’s not even annoyed anymore. 

“How about you join me, just for a little while?” Jensen drawls, like he’s trying to not make it sound too serious. “My line of work requires a specialized vocabulary,” he says and Jared has to laugh a little when he recognizes the quote from _Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid_. “You could help me with that.” Jensen’s full-on grinning now. “Maybe play a game or two yourself – I know you want to. And we could move on before anyone’s on to us.”

It’s out of nowhere, crazy and reckless and so very, very tempting.

“So you want me to be the schoolteacher to your Butch?” Jared asks, more or less stalling for time and amazed that he can even crack a joke of his own. He’s definitely in shock. “Pull me along into your outlaw life of crime?”

“Exactly.” Jensen nods. “But I have to warn you. As lives of crime go, mine’s pretty tame. No guns, no violence. I even have rules,” Jensen gives him a wry little grin. “Not many, but some.” He counts his rules out on his fingers. “Other players can’t be on drugs, desperate, or mentally unstable. And I only use my _ability_ in high-stakes games. I don’t play with people who can’t afford to lose.”

“Almost sounds like Robin Hood,” Jared says, and even though his tone is mocking, he kind of likes Jensen’s rules.

“If you mean that I take from the rich and give to myself, then yes: exactly like Robin Hood.”

Jared snorts, but quickly sobers up. “Are you serious?” he asks.

“Don’t worry,” Jensen says, “I’m not proposing.” He smirks. “Just propositioning.”

Jared gives him an earnest look, and Jensen heaves a sigh before he replies more sincerely. “I don’t really know you, but you seem like a nice guy. You _get_ the game, you know Spanish, and you’re pretty good in the sack.” He winks. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but it looks like both of us can’t stay in one place for long – we might as well travel together for a while, see how it goes.”

It sounds like a pipe dream, but it doesn’t sound _completely_ impossible, more like something that probably won’t work, but could. And if it doesn’t work, Jared thinks, at this point, what has he got to lose?

He straightens his shoulders and takes a deep breath.

“I’m in.”


End file.
